


You Don't Need Him Like I Do

by bodyworklover



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Armie feels terrible, Elizabeth is horrible, F/M, Happy Ending, Humiliation, M/M, Threats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-29 14:56:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodyworklover/pseuds/bodyworklover
Summary: Timothée plans a special night for him and Armie during the Rome press trip, but someone else stands in the way.





	1. About to Tell

**Author's Note:**

> title inspired by the song "jameson" by zella day
> 
> "i promise you, i'll treat him right. don't wanna fight. you don't need him like i do."
> 
> <3
> 
> timothée's sweater:  
> https://www.bergdorfgoodman.com/p/gucci-crewneck-sweater-w-tiger-intarsia-green-prod124620236

Timothée had used all the money he’d brought for the entirety of the press trip in Rome on tonight.

Tonight, he’d finally profess his love for Armie.

He was sure Armie would concur. All the flirting, the winks, the special touches… It had to mean something.

Timothée had booked a suite at the St. Regis, purchased a bottle of Armie’s favorite Dom Perignon, scattered the clean white bed with rose petals, and set up candles to be lit once night fell.

Currently, Timothée sipped a cappuccino at an outdoor table at Café della Pace, unable to tell if he was shivering due to the slight chill or his nerves. Tonight will change everything, that’s for sure, but will it ruin everything? Or will Armie be able to disregard the stipulations set by Elizabeth, his religious parents, his own mind…

After the coffee, he’d spent his remaining money on something to wear tonight. He walked up and down Via dei Condotti, trying on everything from Prada polo shirts to Burberry bucket hats. Finally, he’d settled on a plush sweater from Gucci. It was Kelly green and had a red tiger on the front.

He checked his watch anxiously throughout his shopping trip until it reached six o’clock, the time he’d planned to text Armie when and where to meet him. Luckily, Timothée wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells at a dinner with Armie tonight. Luca had asked Timothée to go to dinner at one of his favorite restaurants in the city, so Armie and Elizabeth would go for dinner at Mirabelle, one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. I grabbed my phone from my coat pocket and quickly wrote Armie.

_911\. ST. REGIS, ROYAL SUITE - 11 PM. URGENT. SEE YOU THERE. T_

Timothée let out a breath he’d been holding in his ribs, exhaling anxiously. Hopefully Elizabeth would not see the message. His eyes watered from the wind as he made he wandered the down the sidewalks, Gucci shopping bag clutched in his pale hand.

Once arrived at his room, it was just after 7:30. He showered, brushed his teeth, and tousled his curls a bit. He chose to wear his green sweater under a slim black Thom Browne suit, and opted for a pair of white sneakers to dress it down a bit. He didn’t know how casual or nice this little restaurant was, actually. He fastened a small silver necklace around his neck, spritzed on some cologne, and met Luca in the hotel lobby at around 8:45, who was decked in a pair of brown dress pants and a cream cashmere sweater. Timothée laughed internally; only Luca would wear an almost white sweater to go eat Italian food.

“The night is so lovely, why don’t we walk, Timothée?” Armie asked when he saw Timothée emerge from the elevator. He’d always said his name in the proper French way.

“Yeah, let’s.” Timothée agreed happily, finding it had actually warmed up a bit once night fell.

The two strolled down the once new sidewalks and chatted about their days until they arrived at the restaurant— Aroma.

“I reserved us a rooftop table.” Luca said. “It is the only way to go.”

The two ended up sat at a table with an extremely close view of the Colosseum. After flipping through the menu, ordering a few dishes to share, and opening a bottle of wine, Timothée quickly took a gulp from his glass. Luca chuckled.

“You okay, Timothée?” He laughed.

“Me okay…” Timothée sighed, nerve obviously evident in his voice, because Luca asked another question.

“Timothée, what is going on? I wasn’t going to mention it, but this is why I asked you to dinner alone. You haven’t been fun, happy, bubbly Timothée the past couple of days.” Luca said. He spoke like a father concerned for his teenage son.

“Luca, it’s… it’s nothing, really. Just… I don’t know, like… _things_.” Timothée tried to sound convincing but failed.

“Yeah, right.” Luca nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Now, tell me. Is it Armie? Is it weird that Elizabeth is here?”

“What do you mean?” Timothée asked innocently, trying to play dumb so that Luca would drop it.

“I mean, you know, is it making things uncomfortable? You and Armie have grown to be very close over the past few months. And now, this is the first time Armie’s brought Elizabeth on a press trip, and the kids are home with the nanny, so it’s just the two of them spending time together…” Luca rambled.

“Yeah, I guess it’s uncomfortable. Not that I don’t like Liz, of course, but…” Timothée trailed off.

“But…” Luca nodded, encouraging Timothée to finish. Timothée took a sip of wine and took a deep breath. Luca knows how Timothée feels about Armie, he’s just never verbalized it.

“I mean, Luca… you know how I feel about Armie…” Timothée spoke softly.

“Yes, tesoro, I do.” Luca nodded. “What are you gonna do about it? You could call Armie and ask to go grab coffee or something. Say you need to talk about something. That way he’ll leave Elizabeth to do her thing while he spends his time on you, bambino.”

“Well, I kind of already did that— or something like it.” Timothée said.

“Oh? Tell me.” Luca beamed.

“I kind of… booked the royal suite at the St. Regis tonight. I texted him to meet me at eleven, and that it’s important.” Timothée blushed, embarrassed.

“Timothée!” Luca chuckled, beaming. He reached across the table and squeezed Timothée’s cheeks with his hand. “Tesoro, you are such a darling. What are you gonna do there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I think…” Timothée couldn’t help but smile and blush. “I think I’m gonna tell him how I feel. I’m gonna tell him everything.”

“Goodness, Timothée… _Everything_?” Luca asked, suddenly unsure. Timothée’s smile faltered but he nodded.

“Everything.”

“Timothée, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so proud of you, bambino, but… What if it doesn’t go as planned?” Luca asked.

“I think I’m just… I’m just risking it all on this one, Luca.” Timothée sighed. Luca nodded supportively and poured them both a bit more wine. They’ll need it.

Timothée and Luca finished dinner at around 10:15.

“Alright, Timothée, I am to meet a friend for drinks at 10:30, but do not hesitate to call me if anything goes wrong.” Luca said, giving Timothée a classic Italian kiss on the cheek. “Good luck, bambino.”

“Thank you, Luca. And thanks for dinner.” Timothée said. He hopped into a cab and rode to the St. Regis. He decided he’d arrive there at around 10:30 to light the candles and make sure everything was perfectly prepared.

Once he reached the suite after checking in at the front desk, Timothée lit the assorted candles with the matches he’d grabbed from the coffee shop today and dimmed the lights. He anxiously rearranged each individual rose petal on the bed until he heard a rough knock on the door at around 11:10. Timothée knew that knock; it was Armie’s knock. He brushed the lint off of his clothing and took a quick deep breath, running a hand through his curls.

But he was wrong.

He answered the door to see a scowling Elizabeth. She pushed past Timothée and entered the room. Then, she scoffed, and began to shout.

“Just as I thought! Just as I _fucking_ thought!” Elizabeth yelled angrily. “I knew it, I always knew there was something! All this time Armie told me I was being paranoid but I knew it! I was right! I can see right through every last bit of it!”

Timothée did not speak, he simply began to lose his breath and cowered against the wall as Elizabeth further examined the room.

“Candles, dim lights, rose petals? What type of seduction scene is this?” Then, she laughed evilly. “God, 1995 Dom? I literally have no words. I’m speechless.”

Then, Elizabeth turned toward a scared Timothée who cowered against the wall under her tall stature as she inched closer to him.

“Listen to me, and listen good, because I’m only gonna say it once.” Elizabeth spoke dangerously close to Timothée's face, who’s green eyes began welling up with tears. She spoke fast and angrily. “Your little attempt at _seduction_ , or whatever you call this, has failed. You see, luckily, I had my dear husband’s phone while he tried on clothes in the dressing room at Prada, and I knew that you were up to something, as per usual. You just can’t seem to accept the fact that Armie is a straight, not to mention, _married_ man. Look, I tried to be nice to you and put up with your twenty year old shenanigans these past couple of years, even though it’s blatantly obvious you’re in love with my husband, but this _really_ is just the last straw... You think I don’t notice you staring at him? You think I don’t notice all the times you, I don’t know, find some creepy way to touch him, or the alarming amount of times you’ve spoken about his balls in interviews? We're _married_ , for God's sake! We have kids, a home, a _life_! And you aren't a part of it! Like, get the fuck over yourself already, for real! It’s _not_ going to happen, what isn’t clicking in your stupid little performing arts off-Broadway reject New York University theatre major brain?”

Timothée had now slid down against the wall onto floor and began to sob, his knees curled up into him. Elizabeth crouched down to keep her close proximity to Timothée.

“Now, you better clean this shit up, book a flight back to whatever 8th and West 38th shoebox you crawled out from, and get the hell out of our lives. And if I ever see your stupid little androgynous face again… Well, we both know what happens to gay kids in the industry, don’t we?” Elizabeth sneered, playfully shrugging with an evil smile. “You’ll be nothing.”

Elizabeth composed herself and exited the room, slamming the door behind her. Timothée sobbed and sobbed in the same spot on the floor, his back against the wall. His heart had been ripped from his chest and torn to bits right in front of his eyes. Elizabeth had hit him where it hurt the most. She’d insulted his passion, his appearance, his hometown neighborhood.

Eventually, after what must have been two hours of crying hopelessly in the corner, Timothée got up, weakly brushed the rose petals off the bed, and blew out the candles. He slipped off his shoes and crawled into the bed, falling asleep the second his head hit the pillow.


	2. No One Knows

Before the press trip has ended, Timothée has flown back to New York; told Armie, Luca, and Brian, his manager, that he had a family emergency. Luca probably could sense something was wrong, but Timothée did not care to explain.

He was humiliated. He felt hopeless, worthless, broken. The prospect of him and Armie living happily ever after had held him together for so long, but that had been violently snatched from his between frail fingers.

Armie called. Luca called. Brian left voicemails. His parents left messages, as did Pauline. He could not talk to anyone about what had happened in Rome. He felt that anyone who looked at him would be able to see his shame; his humiliation. He fell asleep late and woke up too early, before sunrise. He did not eat much other than the bare minimum; water, coffee, tea, an apple, maybe a croissant here and there.

After a week of no contact with friends, family, or colleagues, Timothée heard a knock on his apartment door. He rose from the windowsill, where he sipped a mug of Earl Grey and watched the pedestrians below.

It was Pauline. She’d flown in from Paris.

“Pauline!” Timothée exclaimed weakly. “What are you doing in New York?”

“I had to see you.” Pauline admitted seriously, letting herself into the apartment. She set her purse down on the table and turned to Timothée. “I know something is wrong.”

“Wrong? What do you mean?” Timothée asked, eyes darting everywhere to avoid Pauline’s gaze.

“Tim, stop.” Pauline sighed. “You’re avoiding me, Mom, Dad, friends, Armie, Brian. You came home from Rome multiple days earlier than expected. Brian said Armie’s still there. You were supposed to get home on the twenty-seventh, but Mom said you landed in New York on the twenty-second.”

“So? What does that even mean, Pauline?” Timothée asked. “They needed Armie for a few more appearances, but I was done with mine.”

“So why are you avoiding everyone? Did something happen in Rome?” Pauline pressed. She could see right through Timothée’s lies. Timothée hesitated and looked at the floor.

“No.” Timothée he mumbled.

“Tim… What happened in Rome?” Pauline inched closer to Timothée and ran a hand through his curls that fell over his face when he lowered his head. “You can tell me anything. You’ve done it before, what’s different?”

Then, Timothée burst into tears. Pauline wrapped her arms around her little brother and continued to massage his curls.

“Tim… Please…” She whispered. “Timothée…” She said in the French way, imitating their father’s accent.

“I’m so ashamed, Paul… Something really bad happened.” Timothée sniffled, pulled out of his sister’s hug.

“Come, let’s go sit on the couch, and you can tell me everything, okay?” Pauline spoke softly. She always knew how to comfort Timothée. He sighed.

After the two made themselves comfortable on the dark green leather couch, Timothée began to explain everything. He told Pauline of the hotel room, the rose petals, the candles, the champagne, the dinner with Luca. Of how his chemistry with Armie felt more sacred than usual in Rome, up until Elizabeth arrived and stole Armie’s attention. Then, though it was very difficult to hold back his sobs, he told her of Elizabeth’s rampage.

“Tim, oh my God.” Pauline whispered. “I knew that woman was fake, but I didn’t know she was unhinged. I’m so sorry she said all of that to you. You know it’s not true.”

Timothée shrugged.

“I guess. I just feel so humiliated. I feel like everyone knows what happened. I feel like they can see it in my eyes… My shame.” Timothée sniffled.

“Nobody knows, Tim. Everyone is just worried. You’ve cut contact with everyone for days.” Pauline explained. “Come for dinner at Mom and Dad’s tonight. Let them know you’re okay, they just want to see you alive and breathing, Tim…”

“I don’t know if I can handle acting like everything is just fine…” Timothée sighed sadly.

“I’m staying there, though. If you feel like you need to cry, or talk, or be alone, I’ll make an excuse for you to go to your bedroom, or mine.” Pauline explained.

“I guess.” Timothée nodded. “Thanks, Pauly.

“Always, Timmy.” Pauline ruffled her brother’s curls. “You know I’m always here. Even if I’m in Paris.”

Timothée nodded and the two shared a long hug.

Later that evening, Timothée showered, dressed, and took a taxi over to his parents apartment. It was not far from his own, only a few blocks, but the weather in the city was biting and he could not bare to walk. He clutched a Barney’s New York gift box that he’d retrieved from inside his closet.

“Mom… Dad…” Timothée smiled as his parents opened the door.

“Timmy!” His mother embraced his tightly.

“Timothée! Où étiez-vous?” His father smiled.

“Oh, you know, here… there… chess club…” Timothée joked. His parents weren’t convinced.

“Dinner’s almost ready, mon garçon, come sit.” His father spoke.

“Smells good.” Timothée plastered a smile on his face. His parents were obviously very concerned and unconvinced by his demeanor, but they did not say anything just yet.

"Oh, Papa, I brought you a gift. I bought it from Gucci in Rome."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i hope you enjoyed!  
> xoxo <3


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